Two Branches Diverged in a Half-Lit Night
by trimurti
Summary: [FE7] The blink of an eye, the touch of a hand...the end might remain the same, but the events leading up to it may differ drastically. Kent/Fiora, between B and A support.
1. Half-Lit Night

This is a reposted story from my LJ, originally written in February 2008. Because of this story's particular formatting issues I'd been wary of putting it up here, but now I'm giving it the old college try. This is a like a Choose Your Own Adventure book, except you're really choosing your own story! Branch I and Branch II are their own separate endings - enjoy!

-0-

This is how it begins: a man and a woman, together. Night surrounds them in its oppressive embrace, but it is buffeted by the light of a half-moon and the nearby fire. The ambiance is lost on the both of them, if only because these two are Kent of the Lycian canton Caelin and Fiora of Edessa province, Ilia - two knights who have taken it upon themselves to ensure that no one else may enjoy what they have now, an increasingly intimate encounter with a person of the opposite sex. Right now they are proper, principled commanders sharing ideas on a matter that has troubled the both of them, that any two people could get so carried away in each other that they forget their duty and lose everything. It is a favorite word of theirs, duty: a noun, a virtue, an honor, and they use it often and with complete sincerity.

This is not the first night they have spent on their new idea, because they both have so much to share with the other. How should we clarify this? Would this be too harsh? In Caelin, the proper punishment would be this, but how would they do it in Ilia? Like this, you see, because any harsher might store up resentment. That's true, we wouldn't want to go so far; as a new commander I've found a direct, but lenient approach to be best. I'm surprised to hear it's only been a year for you, considering what Florina has said. Your sister has been working harder than the native knights; seeing you in battle, I realize her work ethic must come from the example you have set. I thank you for the compliment, but after seeing the improvement in her skill I should be the one thanking you. Well, I'm honored by your kind words. Ah, anyway, as you were saying here...

Well, maybe they have been affected, just a little, not that either of them are able - or willing - to recognize it.

Until tonight. Together, night after night, they have worked, conversed, and expressed surprise when one or the other realized just how much of the night had trickled by, so naturally they have had to promise to meet again the next night. And again. And yet again, until all there was in their days was battle and each other.

Until tonight.

Tonight is a night like any other, they think, but this is not true. They have been around each other for too many battles, too many nights, for that to be true. It is there in the way her breath catches when he leans over her shoulder to see something she has written - she feels that she might be breathing too loud and that will annoy him, but no, the only thing louder than the crackle of the fire is the staccato beats of her heart. It's there in the way his eyes linger on the curve of her wrist as she tucks a loose lock of hair behind one small, unadorned ear - Lady Lyndis has pierced lobes from which her mother's gold earrings dangle and he does find that detail very endearing, but he finds that there is something perfectly right that the woman beside him now would eschew something as frivolously simple as jewelry. The sound of his accented, precise Elibean as it slides into her ear and reverberates in time with her heartbeat, the scatter of teal-blue hair over her ear and trickling down her shoulder as she lowers her hand - these are the things they notice, these are the things they lock within their hearts, these are the things upon which they don't react.

Then it happens. Entirely by accident their fingers nudge together in that space between them that both knights had unconsciously left barren, a borderline of propriety. Both are surprised by the breach, surprised enough that they glance at each other, apologies fattened by their unconscious guilt already reaching their lips.

Their eyes meet, and then -


	2. Branch I

Branch I: Weeping Willow, Milkvetch, Indian Jasmine  
(_in mourning, I hope my presence softens your pains; I am here for you_)

- in a move too casual to be considered disaffected, Fiora moved her hand. "Oh, forgive me, I didn't notice your hand was there," she said, bringing the offensive digits up to her face in sincere embarrassment. The tips of two of her fingers pressed just at the corner of her mouth and Kent had to look away, the sight provoking thoughts he had no intention of entertaining. It was the fault of Sain's presence within his life, he was sure of it.

"It was more my error," he was quick to say, as if she needed to be exonerated. "I had only just moved my hand. It would only be expected that you did not notice, so you needn't apologize."

"My lack of observation is my own error," she responded, her voice suddenly quiet. Turning away from him, she gazed up, at the half-grown moon. "My error alone."

It seemed as if everything around them was still; even the sound of the fire was muted. It troubled him to see her no more lively than a statue, such a caring woman now so withdrawn. "Fiora?" he asked - he had to ask.

As if shaking off sleep, she looked at him in a deliberate manner. "I'm...I'm sorry," she murmured, her hand now at her forehead, "it was a thought. A memory."

He watched her, his brow creasing as he tried to put together what was disturbing her so. "If I may ask, of what?"

A smile tried to form on her lips, but they both could tell that she wasn't succeeding. "My wing. By tonight's moon, I only just realized that, just one month ago, my error of judgment caused my entire wing to...to die." The last two words were almost a sigh, the ghosts of those words, but they were heard all the same.

"I," Kent started, then stopped. Really, what could he say? He was a commander, the same as her. What would he want someone to tell him if his own knights died by his order? Would he want her to tell him that it was okay, that it surely couldn't have been her fault? Would she want condolences, sentiments easier to give than they could possibly be received?

If it were him, could he want anything at all other than the chance to correct that wrong?

She reached out at him but not to him, stopping short of touching him. "Please forgive me," she said, her eyes strangely kind. "I did not mean to burden you with my own troubles."

"You shouldn't feel the need to apologize," he said, watching as curiosity crossed her face. "I don't find it a burden to listen to you, Fiora."

They sat in silence for a while. A cricket chirped, its reedy song competition for the crackle of the fire. There was singing within the center of the camp, a drinking song, followed by a sharp rebuke in a feminine voice. Kent wondered if that was Lady Lyndis; he had noticed that, due to the trauma of losing her tribe, she couldn't stand loud voices at night lest they attracted bandits to their location. It was prudent, though he wished it was a lesson she had learned due to reason and not out of fear.

"What would you have done if it had happened to you?" Fiora asked in her soft, moderate voice, and he glanced at her to confirm that it was, indeed, her speaking. "What would you do afterwards?"

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. Even thinking about it yielded no answers save a shiver that ran down his spine at the thought of losing everyone but himself, failing his mission and being forced to live through it. How anyone could remain unbowed and unbroken by what must be a harrowing experience was what he couldn't understand; how Fiora could still fight with all the vigor and precision of one untouched by tragedy impressed him. "It would be easy to say that I would fight on and avenge my soldiers, return to my lord and face his displeasure, but in the end I would think that the guilt would be overwhelming..."

She nodded, her eyes downcast. It was an affectation apparently not limited to the youngest sister, Kent saw. "Those were my thoughts," she admitted, "my very thoughts. If I had not crossed paths with this army and Florina, I believe I would have been lost."

"Lost?" he was about to say, but then, with a shiver, he remembered Lady Lyndis. Yes, he knew of the ways a soul could be lost after becoming a survivor - sorrow, loneliness, and something darker than mere anger. Instead, he chose to remark, "But you are not lost now."

"No." A small smile appeared on her face, and at the sight of it he smiled in return - not just a reflex, he found, but a sincere expression of relief for the woman beside him. "Seeing how Florina has grown, reuniting with Farina, receiving Lord Pent's assurances, spending time with you - these things taught me how valuable it is to live. Not that I did not know this before, but rather..." She made a soft humming sound as she tried to find the right word; it reminded Kent of a hummingbird hovering in the air, deciding which flower to dart to next - a strange thought of whimsy strengthened by the sight of her deceptively delicate wrist as she tucked another wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "It has been a long time since I thought about living for myself, not just as a knight. Even though we've been fighting nearly every day, I've..." she paused, giving him a sidelong glance and a smile, "I've been enjoying myself."

"It is strange, isn't it?" he mused, his gaze drifting up towards the half-moon. "Although these have been trying times as of late, I would admit the same. It is one thing to fight for a cause that is right and true, but to do it alongside so many worthwhile allies...I can only hope that these bonds of friendship will continue to hold strong even after everything is finished."

There was silence, a comforting quiet that Kent enjoyed only rarely with others. There were obvious reasons for that, what with Sain's unfortunate tendencies, Wil's talkative nature and, he had to admit, although he spent less time alone with Lady Lyndis since they joined Lord Eliwood and Lord Hector's campaign, she was a rather friendly and spirited sort of person who expected to verbally reach out to others whenever she could. But Fiora, like himself, had a more temperate and moderate personality, and from the past several days he knew that she took equal pleasure in the act of silence as he did.

He felt something being placed on the back of his hand, and when he glanced down he found her hand on top of his. Surprised, his eyes flickered up to meet hers, but otherwise he did not move.

"Thank you, Kent," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Thank you for listening to me. When I talk to you, I have the strangest feeling that I know how you will reply, and it tends to be everything I would say in turn." She laughed; it sounded like low notes of a beloved melody. "That sounds strange, I'm sure."

"Does it?" he asked, all too aware of how distant his words sounded in his ears. How could he describe this feeling? It was as if he were drifting, perhaps, with only the pull of her clear blue eyes and the warmth of her bare fingers resting on his hand to anchor him. And yet, he did not feel discomfited; the surprise was wearing away, revealing a mild curiosity. This was the same woman who easily pulled away from him before - did she feel that comfortable with him? Did she feel it was acceptable? _Was _it acceptable?

His fingers twitched under hers, testing her touch. It was a nice touch, light, gentle. Having seen her with her youngest sister, that seemed appropriate. Acceptable?

Her fair complexion, pale in the moonlight, seemed to darken slightly, but she was not looking away from him any more than he could from her. "I am being impertinent," she murmured, her voice as low as the crackling from the dying fire. Despite her words, neither her gaze nor her hand moved.

"No," he said, as clearly as his voice would allow. And, because he did listen to Sain, as much as he tried not to, Kent decided that he would let actions show what his words would not and turned his hand over, their palms pressed together and her fingertips tickling the joints of his fingers. With an ease that belied the heaviness of her gaze, her fingers entwined with his, their hold on each other light, gentle. He smiled, more because of the wobbly nervousness jangling throughout his body - relief, in some strange way - than anything else before he looked away. There were less fires burning at the main camp and the fire before them was dying out, leaving the half-moon and an uncountable amount of stars dotting the night sky. "It's a nice night," he commented. "I suppose you've flown on nights like this one."

"I have," she said, the smile evident in her tone before she began to describe what it was like to fly. He listened, still contemplating the feeling of her hand in his. It was a strange feeling, something unlike anything he had felt before. It lacked the wistfulness of his feelings for his lady liege, that quiet longing of someone standing at the periphery of something great while never daring to linger any closer. This, instead, was comfortable, something completely within his reach. It was more than acceptable to hold onto that feeling with both hands, he now realized, and he was going to once he could find the proper words to express himself. It was a different sort of procedure and protocol than he was used to, but he knew she would appreciate it as much as he.

Somehow, he already knew that she would reach back.

-end-


	3. Branch II

Branch II: Arum, Deep Red Rose, Pennyroyal  
(_our ardor awakens, and in shame I can only do this - I flee from you_)

- Fiora paused and Kent paused and the whole world paused.

Fiora was a good knight, a better woman. The proper response to this incident was to pull her hand away and apologize. That was all, that was easy, that was what she had to do. She had done this before, she had always done what was proper and right.

But she had no idea - never allowed herself to realize it - that Kent was so close to her.

With equal parts sinking dread and high notes of some fluttery emotion she did not want to think about, she looked at him, his strong, youthful features touched by fingers of moonlight. He wasn't much older than her nineteen years, something, one of the many things that had strongly appealed to her. The Pegasus Knight Brigade had no choice in selecting young commanders, but that he, who was so like her in many ways, earned his right to be a commander of a Lycian canton's army said something about her as well. Despite her failure, maybe she had earned her right to lead once; maybe she could again, if she wanted it. Not that she could even think clearly on matters such as those when his gaze was on her.

The thought of it made her feel as if she was slowly losing her hold on reality. No matter what the other pegasus knights had said over the years, she had never thought herself to be just as vulnerable to the feelings of a touch, a gaze as any of them. She had pulled away from enough men to prove that much to herself, no matter how often her comrades would tell her later that 'the right man' would change everything.

Even if Kent was 'the right man', it scared her that as much as she was telling herself to move, to apologize, to avoid the situation, she wasn't.

She didn't want to move away. She wanted to get closer.

That wasn't fair to him, she told herself. He had never shown any interest in her that way; it would be obvious and she would have pulled away sooner. But now, Fiora realized with a settling sensation of dismay, that perhaps all along her feelings had been betraying her, coaching her to stay beside him even when she intellectually knew that it was dishonest - she was not the 'morally pure' person he had thought she would be. She needed to pull away.

She needed - she wanted -

"Kent," she whispered; his hand - his fingers lingered over her hand, curled around it.

She wanted to get closer. It frightened her. This was not something she thought she should want, therefore it was not something she should have. As a pegasus knight of Ilia -

Oh, but she knew all the stories. How so many pegasus knights, so many of her friends, played around after the mission was over. Discreetly, but...

Ah, he was looking at her like she was the only thing he could see.

With her free hand, she touched his face. Fingerless gloves - oh, why did she have fingerless gloves? He felt nice. Why was she doing this? She curled a lock of his hair around her finger; it wasn't soft, but she liked the color. Did he like her doing this, did he like her?

Fiora would never be able to explain what happened next, who made the next move. Distantly aware of the world around her, she was only somewhat certain that she had leaned towards him, her face tilted up - what did she think was going to happen next? But she hadn't leaned in all that far before she felt his lips brush against hers, and so she wasn't sure what to think.

Not that she was sure how she was supposed to feel, either.

They did not move, not for a long time. For what felt like years of her life ticking away, one by one, Fiora was overwhelmed by the rise of emotion that threatened to sweep her away; it was all she could do to let her lips linger along his, every tremble of his lips a tremor against hers. That lamentable, insistent urge that had pushed her to this seemed to melt away, replaced by a new feeling: a strange, longing curiosity that nudged at her to explore further this new act, this...indulgence of something that seemed more than base carnality. When she pressed her lips against his in a proper kiss, Kent responded with the same. His hand, which covered hers, curled over hers like it was engulfing it in a gentle hug; she twisted her hand underneath his until she was able to entwine their fingers together as they continued to lay chaste kisses on each other's lips until they were breathless, foreheads pressed together and parted lips allowing their breaths to mingle together, sharing a new warmth as the cooling night air swirled past them.

How strange, she thought in hazy wonder. She had worried over the increasing intimacy between others in their army because she had viewed it as an element of distraction that no one needed at this time, but now she found herself seeing things with a new clarity. This felt much nicer than she had imagined - with a good deal of her comrades' experiences cobbled together - it to be. It was more honest than she had let herself be as of late, and to share that with she admired and was growing ever fonder of absolved her of the fear she had felt before.

Renewed by this realization, Fiora didn't hesitate to kiss Kent again, her lips still parted from trying to catch her breath. And his as well, she found out. It was stranger yet, she had to admit - there was the taste of him, the slight wetness, how they both started a little when their teeth clacked together with the wrong head movement - but it was enjoyable in a way she had never thought to examine before. The arm around her waist, the hand pressed against her back reminded her that she still had a hand free, which she moved to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair as their kissing deepened. She had thought she had been overwhelmed before - no. Not compared to now, surrounded as she was by him. His smell, his taste, his touch; these things completely dominated her senses and made her eager for more -

_How much more?_

- as their tongues entwined over and around again and again, increasingly frantic -

_Isn't this going too far?_

- as they swept each other up in a whirlwind of emotion, and caught up in all these new feelings nothing else mattered -

In horror, in abject shock and horror, Fiora pushed Kent away and jumped to her feet, trembling as she realized that she had gone too far.

Who was she to think that nothing else mattered? Who was she to cast aside her integrity, her honor, her morality for the sake of pleasure?

Who was she to deserve it?

Somehow, even though Kent was complicit in engaging in _that _with her, she was embarrassed to look at him, sure that he would feel disgust towards her. Or worse, himself. If only she had moved her hand, this would have never happened.

"I," she began, a flat note, "I'm so sorry. This was all my fault, I..." He didn't say anything, so she glanced at him - he seemed to be avoiding her gaze, his head turned away from her, and that much more guilt pierced her like an arrow. "I...please forgive me. I, I should go."

She ruined everything, she knew. First her wing, now she had driven off the man she had grown to care for deeply...this was too much. Drawing the tatters of what was left of her dignity around her, she began to take her leave in measured steps. To run away like a criminal, even if she felt like one at the moment, was not something she could do; at the very least, she should ensure not to look suspicious to the night watch for Kent's sake.

"Fiora!" he called as she walked away. His voice sounded foreign to her ears.

She did not look back. It would break her if she had.

-end-


End file.
